Ill Wishes
by PhantomChajo
Summary: One person's spiteful, ill-wish changes the life of another. Friendship with no planed pairings, the return of another dead character and unexpected family relationships.
1. Chapter 1

Ill Wishes 1  
by PhantomChajo

(A/N: A simple concept: someone get's turned into an ottsel by some means or fashion.

Victim of this Ottselfication? Who else but Torn. I like picking on this guy at the moment. It's fun.

Who/what caused it? Well I think Daxter can be more vindictive then we know about.

Reversable? Haven't decided yet.

Setting: AU/AR, cause I like Damas alive amongst other things. And I can't see the old hard-head dying from a roll-over. Now if his guts were strewn about that would have been different.

Disclaimer: I don't own nothing or no one.)

-0-

From one of the side platforms in the arena, Torn watched silently. The precursor monk, Seem, had moments earlier informed him that King Damas was awake and willing to see the former KG Captain. He had only been waiting for the moment to slip away to speak with the former ruler of Haven City so he missed what was transpired over the next few minutes, but even if he had been there it wouldn't have made a difference.

The heavyset ottsel leader stood bracketed by his two cohorts at the bottom of the precursor ship. "We own you much Daxter. For all you've done. For all your bravery in the face of incredible danger, we shall grant you your deepest desire."

From where he'd been laying stretched out with his head pillowed in Tess's lap getting his chest and belly scratched, Daxter sat up upon hearing those words. He would be granted his deepest desire, oh the possibilities there. "Ya know… I…" he paused in thought going through his options. He could always wish for pants since he was sorely lacking in that department. Or he could wish for his best pal's dad to be fully healed. Heck, he could even wish for Pecker to be permanently muted. As he looked around, he noticed a person missing and it gave rise to something that'd been festering in the back of his mind for almost two years now. "Be right back babe," he told Tess as he sat up then hopped of the stone table and sauntered over to the trio. Motioning for the gray-bearded ottsel to lean closer, he whispered what he wanted into the older male's ear.

The self-proclaimed leader drew back in dismay. "Are you serious?" he asked in astonishment.

Daxter nodded and crossed his arms over his furry chest. "As a Metalhead."

The leader glanced at his two cohorts then back to Daxter. "If that is what you wish…. Then so be it. Upon the rising of the green sun, your deepest desire shall be granted." 'And Mar have mercy on you when he finds out,' the leader added mentally to himself. Green Sun up was only about four hours away.

The human turned ottsel nodded then grinned as he sauntered his way back to where Tess was sitting and hopped back up to take his place. "Ah, I can't wait till tomorrow morning."

"Soo…. Daxie, what'd you wish for?" Tess asked, just as curious as everyone else but more willing to voice it.

Buffing his claws on his chest, he held them up a moment then flexed his fingers. "You'll just have to wait and see baby cakes."

-0-

For the last two hours and a half hours Torn had been talking to King Damas. Spilling his guts figuratively and almost literally a few times had Damas been able to reach his staff. He was saved from being eviscerated thanks to the older man being bedridden after the accident in Haven City while assisting Jak. Years of festering guilt for his participation in past events were finally laid bare before the man he once claimed to be loyal to. When Torn left the sand king's chambers it was with a bruised jaw, a busted lip and the understanding he was no longer welcomed in Spargus. In fact a marauder would be more welcomed within the gates of the desert city then he would be. At least for the foreseeable future until the king's ire had cooled significantly that is.

Unlike Haven City, which took several hours to traverse using a zoomer, Spargus City could be crossed in an hour by foot. Less if one used one of the leaper lizards that were stationed around the desert city. The Freedom Guard Commander eyed the animal stationed outside the lift with trepidation before deciding it was better to walk then to trust the animal which was unknown to him. Besides, he didn't feel like being embarrassed by his inexperience with the living transportation. He had decided to take the Air Train back to Haven City and leave Ashelin the Hellcat cruiser to take back. It would give him time to think of what needed to be done and plan on how to get it accomplished with what little resources was left. Too bad the palace had been destroyed. The treasury floor would have provided the money needed since it was filled with precious metals, stones and artifacts. What hadn't been looted was buried in the rubble and inaccessible for the moment. Maybe later they would be able to get to it.

Later he would blame his inattention to his surroundings on his preoccupation with his past. Crossing from the city proper into the garage and vehicle parking area, he didn't realize until it was too late that the number of people in the area was way more than what was normal and most of those loitering around didn't belong there in the first place. The exits; both back into the city as well as out into the desert, were blocked to prevent him from escaping. Turning he made a fast headcount. The odds were not good. Within moments he had his pistols drawn and had taken down two of the many. Dodging and moving, he kept as many objects at his back as he could. It gave his opponents less of a chance at coming up from behind. He wondered for a fleeting moment, how no one noticed the ruckus going on in the vehicle bay.

Out of ammo finally, 3 men down and 5 others wounded but not enough to put them out of the action. The eco pistols were useless to him now. Flipping the one in his right hand over, he threw it like he would a knife. The man closes was nailed in the face, nose shattered. It gained him only enough time to throw the second pistol and draw his curved combat blade. From there on out, things got even nastier.

Somehow someone got behind him with a long handled oversized spanner and used it like a club. The idiot let loose a battle cry which was how Torn managed to dodge the worst of the blow. Still pain exploded across the back of his head and his entire left arm went numb as it glanced off his skull to crash into his shoulder. Staggering but not down, his blade cut a bloody swath as he kept fighting. Over a quarter of his assailants were dead, only half by his self though. Rivals took the chance to take out rivals and not be noticed. A second blow, this one to the middle of his back sent him reeling forward. And like a pack of rabid metalheads they were on him. Curling in on his self, doing his best to protect vital organs. He heard as much as felt the sickening crack of ribs, the gut twisting pop as his left arm was severally dislocated. He gagged on bile and blood, unable to get enough of air to scream in pain much less breath proper. And even if he could, his jaw had been broken at some point after he went down. Blows kept raining down until an unexpected rescuer made an appearance.

"What the hell ya blighters doing to me place?" Kleiver demanded as he stomped his way over to the ring of bloody, bruised and still high on adrenalin men. "I don't care what ya doing with'em but get those bodies out of me garage!" he bellowed as he lumbered over to a waiting transport. He tossed something into the back of the vehicle then turned. "Ya can stick that one in there, might as well get some payback on the bitch for taking me new plaything." The fat mechanic pointed first to Torn, who was barely conscious then to the vehicle in question before once more leaving.

A lot of muttering before the Freedom League Commander was none too gently picked up and thrown into the back of the indicated transport. Several large crates were then shifted around so he was hidden from sight. Floating in an ocean of sensation, every sharp gasping breath sending out ripples of fierce pain. A last fleeting thought that just maybe for all his past transgressions, fate and karma was finally exacting their price in his blood. He gave in to the blissfully pain free darkness of unconsciousness unaware of the other being in the back with him.


	2. Chapter 2

Ill Wishes 2  
by PhantomChajo

(A/N: A simple concept: someone get's turned into an ottsel by some means or fashion.

Victim of this Ottselfication? Who else but Torn. I like picking on this guy at the moment. It's fun.

Who/what caused it? Well I think Daxter can be more vindictive then we know about.

Reversable? Haven't decided yet.

Setting: AU/AR, cause I like Damas alive amongst other things. And I can't see the old hard-head dying from a roll-over. Now if his guts were strewn about that would have been different.

Disclaimer: I don't own nothing or no one.)

-0-

"Oh sweet Eco no," Veger muttered from the tight confines of the tiny cage he'd been crammed into. Not caring about his shape of his clothes or how badly he'd end up cutting himself, he twisted and kicked, pulled and shoved till he was able to get the cage open. Crawling out of the ruined metal kangarat trap, he placed small ottsel sized paws gingerly against exposed flesh. The rapid and erratic thudding of a pulse gave only minor relief that his nephew was still alive. His thoughts raced as his paws scrabbled over the chest piece looking for the catch that would release it. Why had the armor not done its job, why had it shattered like so much brittle glass under a few hits? Then he found it, the reason why and bitter regret washed away the anger he had.

Near one of the side catches was the armor maker's mark. A mark he remembered well as it was a symbol of the spiteful victory against, at that time, Commander Praxis in the halls of the Palace. It was decided that the cheaply made light armor served the officers well enough in the fight against the metalheads since they had the heavily armored guards to protect them. Besides armor or no armor, death by metalhead was extremely fast in most cases.

-0-

_The subtle war of revenge started years before Damas became ruler of Haven City, when they were young men and once friends. Veger's younger sister had been promised to Damas when they were still children and Praxis, though from a noble family, was still jealous that the son of the city's ruler received all of the 'best' the city had to offer. It did not help matters that most of the nobles of the city fought a war of politics with each other over power and rank and he was not so subtly encouraged by his family to break that upcoming alliance._

_When it was discovered that his younger sister had been defiled by Praxis, both he and his family were outraged, but when they discovered she was carrying his bastard child they became coldly furious. What made it worse was her continued claim that Praxis loved her and would marry her before the child was born. So when she confronted him, at a public function no less, he humiliated her calling her a tramp and a status greedy whore. He claimed he'd never touched her in his life and that she had latched onto the first free male with status, trying to claim him as her bastard child's father._

"_See? You're saved from having to marry into a family with such low standards," Praxis chortled before downing another glass of wine._

_Damas, barely into his 20's like the rest of the young sons and daughters of the city nobles, merely nodded. "Indeed, I owe you my friend."_

_Veger, having been watching from the shadowed sidelines, silently swore to the Precursors that he would get his revenge on both Praxis and Damas for what they had done to his sister. Not long after, he left for Kras City to continue his education. When he returned, he found that his sister had been beaten to death by one of her clients. She died a broken drug addicted whore on the streets of the city's slum. Her son, his nephew, had in turn at barely seven years of age killed his mother's killer and was now serving time in the city's prison system. The only reason he was there was the fact he had no known relatives and the man he killed was both a minor noble and an officer in the guard. It didn't take much to get the boy released to his custody. Over the next few years he made sure the boy was educated as best as possible as well as made aware of his lineage. That he was the unwanted bastard son of Praxis when he should have been the first born son of Lord Damas._

_Over time, Torn met and made friends with another child of the streets, a boy named Erol. It was this boy who taught him the art of street racing and gave him a means of distancing himself from his conflicted emotions. When that no longer worked, he found other means and methods. When he tuned 16 he joined the guard against his uncle's wishes and when asked who his relatives were, he claimed he was bastard son of a slum whore. No further questions were asked and he embraced the tough military life. A year later his friend Erol also joined. As they progressed in ranks, it was discovered that Torn was a tactical genius but unable to think outside his orders while Erol was quite ingenious at coming up with plans but lacked any tactical comprehension what so ever. So in the end Torn ended up ranking no higher than a Captain while Erol made it to Commander before the fall of Damas's rule and 'Baron' Praxis's ascension._

_Those events were only small points along a greater web of world changing events._

-0-

He paused, unsure if it would be better to remove the broken armor or leave it on incase it gave a tiny bit of support. He decided to wait a moment as he continued to check what damage had been done. Scampering on all fours was much easier then walking upright at the moment; it allowed him to leap over objects instead of crawling over or going around. Also as an ottsel his senses were now sharper than those of a human so he could hear the fast and shallow, wet sounding breathing. He could smell the sharp coppery tang of blood along with underlying scent of sweat and dust. He ended up sneezing several times as the underlying stench of multitudes of unwashed bodies along with hot metals, oils and other foul smelling liquids which kept the vehicles running invaded his senses.

Not being a medic or trained in the field of medicine, Veger could only guess that from the sharp down sloping angle of Torn's shoulder it was either broken or dislocated. He located where the scent of blood was both the freshest and the strongest and was relieved somewhat that it had stopped. He knew from his younger days that scalp wounds tended to bleed like a stuck hip hog, generally looking worse than they were. But he also knew that head injuries could be just as deadly as any mortal wound could be, more so because, unlike other injuries, head traumas and internal bleeding were invisible killers.

After several minutes Veger came to the disheartening conclusion there was absolutely nothing he could do for his nephew except stay with him until the end. He once more moved around so that he was looking at Torn's face. Bruises were already darkening pale skin as swelling of abused flesh occurred. The human turned ottsel took the time to study the unconscious man's face before it became too distorted. Having looked at his own face often enough when preparing for the council chambers, he easily picked out all the similarities. He was honestly amazed that no one else seemed to notice the resemblance between the two. Both he and Torn were tall and on the thin side with faces that were slightly narrow and long, with wide low cheek bones and chins which squared off shy of being pointed. It was, perhaps, a good thing that Torn inherited very little in the way of looks from the deceased Baron. With a soft grunt, Veger settled himself so he was almost nose to nose with the other man then closed his eyes and started his vigil.

-0-

Mean while up in the Spargus throne room, Daxter stood before the large windows staring out at the horizon waiting for the dawning of the green sun. Within moments of the smaller celestial body peaking over the horizon a bright white flash that lasted only a few milliseconds came from the vehicle bay area. A shiver ran down his spine followed by the feeling that his wish had been granted. A sudden manic grin spread across his face before he started laughing like a lunatic. His laughter died with the clanking and rattling of the lift. He kept grinning as his pal, Jak appeared from below.

"Daxter?" he asked as he stepped off the lift to join his friend at the windows.

"Yeah pal?"

"Everything ok?"

"Yeah pal, everything's just fine now. Why wouldn't it be?" the ottsel asked as he turned and made his own way towards the lift.

The green-blond haired young man crossed his arms over his chest as he watched the retreating back and jauntily swinging tail of his childhood companion. He had the feeling that something, somewhere had changed and he wasn't sure if he liked that feeling or not. "Guess so," he said as he glanced once more though the glass to the green sun before turning and joining the ottsel on the lift.

With all the celebrating occurring in both Spargus and Haven City, no one noticed Torn had not been heard from or seen in days. Almost two weeks would pass before the smoothly run Freedom League came to a stuttering stumbling halt as it was discovered that the Commander was gone. Ashelin along with Jak would be the ones to discover that all his personal items were missing when she over-rode the lock to his quarters. A box sat on his bed with a simple letter of resignation on top of it. For months, it was only the two of them that would know that the box had contained the ripped and dirty, blood stained uniform and shattered armor which once belonged to Torn, his prized curved combat blade conspicuously missing.

A half a year would pass as the best trackers Spargus and Haven City had to offer searched for the missing man before Ashelin, Governor of Haven City and Damas, King of Spargus was approached by the Kras City Racing committee. Offers of assistance in rebuilding the two cities in exchange for allowing the Combat Racing Circuit to be expanded into the two areas were made and accepted. In the celebration that followed, a drunken Daxter finally told what his wish was. The man hunt was called off and a new search began, this time starting in Spargus and involving only Jak and Sig. It would take another three months before Daxter was once more in the good graces of everyone, except Ashelin. In the two months leading up to the new start of the combat racing season, a new lead on man turned ottsel was discovered, which in turn lead the trio to Kras City and Combat Racing.


	3. Chapter 3

Ill Wishes 3  
by PhantomChajo

(A/N: A simple concept: someone get's turned into an ottsel by some means or fashion.

Victim of this Ottselfication? Who else but Torn. I like picking on this guy at the moment. It's fun.

Who/what caused it? Well I think Daxter can be more vindictive then we know about.

Reversable? Haven't decided yet.

Setting: AU/AR, cause I like Damas alive amongst other things. And I can't see the old hard-head dying from a roll-over. Now if his guts were strewn about that would have been different.

Disclaimer: I don't own nothing or no one. See bottom for terms & concepts)

-0-

It started with a communicator call. A communicator call that came in just after 4am in the morning for the receiver, for the one doing the calling it was only a little past 10pm locally. After several moments of barely awake fumbling the call was finally answered.

"Yeah?" the voice was rough from sleep yet still female sounding.

"Hello Luv," this voice, though equally female sounding was rough from a combination of things.

".. Mum? What the hell you doing calling me at… four bloody thirty in the am?" a yawn interrupting the not quite rant, punctuating the large difference in the time between one place and the other. "Nothing has happened has it?"

"It is? Right luv, right. Kras is a few hours behind us, isn't it? And no, everything is fine luv."

"Mum…I'm eighteen hours behind you." With a grumble the now awake female tossed the covers to the side swung her legs over the side of the bed, sitting up. Fingers raked through sleep tangled hair in a half-hearted attempt to get it somewhat under control. Giving it up as a lost cause for the moment, she stood and stretched. She didn't really listen to all her mother was saying as she moved around.

Walking though the darkened room with the ease of someone who knew the room like the back of one's hand, the female paused only long enough to adjust the shawl around the sleeping monkaw's body, earning a sleepy, mumbled churr of appreciation before it was once more asleep. Leaving the bedroom, she closed the door partially before making her way into the kitchen area of the apartment. "So mum, what did you call for?" she asked as she closed her eyes tight, flipping on the light switch. A moment later she was squinting against the bright light, still yawning every so often.

"Oh nothing important and don't scowl at me. I know you are even though I can't see you." A light chuckle almost but not quite muffled the cursing in the background. "I wanted to let you know that the items you requested are being shipped out in the morning. They should arrive in a day or two depending on the weather and the transport pilots."

"Hmmmmkay," a few pokes of a finger got the coffee maker going. "What else?" she listened with half an ear as her mother went on about what else was going to be in the shipment as she waited for the coffee maker to finish producing it's life giving nectar. She made the right response noises at the correct intervals in time. "Okay mum, love you too. Next time though, think you can wait a few more hours before calling?" Laughter was the answer she got back in response before the call disconnected.

A bit of breeze followed by talons clicking against the counter top announced the arrival of the once sleeping monkaw. "Arrrk! Your mother?"

"Yeah, sorry to wake you Laina."

"Bah… I would have woken up soon anyways…arrk.. coffee?" the indigo monkaw asked looking at the cup in the human's hands, all the while making a pitiful face with huge eyes. "Please Viky? Pleeaaase can I have some .. Arrk.. coffee?"

The female human, Viky, just rolled her eyes with a chuckle as she fished out a second cup from the cabinets so the monkaw could have her own cup. "Don't blame me though if you pass out later on in the day."

-0-

Three days later…

About an hour before lunch, Viky got the call saying her shipment had arrived during the previous night and was finally cleared to be picked up. Deciding that she could afford to take an extended lunch, she closed down the shop, posted a note on the door then headed to the port. Her vehicle of choice was an old Bronmo that she called 'Mo' and had since she was a teenager, along with a haul trailer she used to transport vehicles in. The Bronmo was a weird hybrid of a hauler, a racer and an all purpose vehicle. Not many had survived the racer aspect of its design but as far as the other two aspects went, they were still in use almost two decades later. She'd rebuilt the engine three different times and the tranny twice, the interior looked like hell but it was still her pride and joy as well has her aggravation at times.

The trip to the port was relatively short and uneventful. After checking in at the main office she headed to where the transport was parked. Ten minutes later, the haul trailer was open and she was cracking the seal on the transporter's cargo bay. After checking the contents of each crate, she would transfer it over to her haul trailer. Like always she ended up with one or two crates of items that she refused to lay claim to. Usually illegal goods some idiot tried to slip into Kras City. Those crates she simply put next to the transport and left for the scavengers to fight over if the big boys decided whatever it was, was worthless to them.

"Right on time," she muttered to herself as she heard the rumble of the combat racer engines approach. "Which ones is it this time Laina?" she asked the indigo monkaw who was perched up on top of the transport watching everything.

"Arrkk!.. Looks to be Mizo's trouble makers. Hrmph. Shiv.. arrk.. and Edje," Laina replied, clearly not impressed with two of the most notorious and feared combat racers in Kras City.

Grunting in acknowledgement, Viky moved back into the interior of the hauler to retrieve a couple of items. When she emerged carrying several large glass bottles, the pair had already parked and were getting out of their racers. "Boys," she said in the way of greetings as she shoved the bottles into their stomachs not waiting for them to get a good grip before letting go and brushing past to grab the next crate.

"Hey!" Edje yelped, almost dropping one of the bottles in the process trying to grab it.

Shiv just laughed to himself, shaking his head as he stashed his own bottles.

"Damn it Viky, give a fellow some warning next time," Edje groused as he put the bottles in his racer then turned back to admire the view. Long, toned legs, encased in ripped and faded denim jeans, the braided tip of her multi-hued hair swinging back and forth over a nice grab-able ass, and business end of a marauder's modified eco-pistol suddenly inches from his face. "Now, now…" he said throwing his hands up, palms outwards.

"Oasis Peace Vik," Shiv said stepping between the two, hands up and palm out, the barrel of the pistol brushing the very tip of his nose. The eco-ammo combined with the smell of gun oil creating an urge to either sneeze or scratch his nose, or both. It was only after the eco-pistol was put away did he let out relieved sigh, giving his slightly taller and older co-worker a rather disgruntled glare before giving in and rubbing his nose. "Idiot," he mumbled behind a hand, though silently he had to agree that Viky was quite a looker all things considered. Like the fact she was Marauder born and raised in the Wasteland, Spargus and Kras City. Standing 6'4", she was taller than most males let alone the average female. She didn't have an overly endowed chest or a tiny waist nor was she overly large either. Her hair was a deep golden blonde hue, at least what wasn't dyed with various colors from the vehicle repainting she did.

Viky scowled at the pair before heading once more into the dark interior of the transport to finish checking the crates before moving them to her hauler. She only had two more to go before she could leave everything else to the two pain in the asses outside and get back to her own nice (if somewhat boring) job. As she reached to check the last crate, a blinding flash of blue and white enveloped her and everything in the transport, freezing time in its tracks.

-0-

Outside the transport neither male noticed that tiny hiccup in time as they talked shop.

"You got to admit, she looks good for her age," Edje commented very quietly to Shiv while the woman was in the depths of the transport cargo hold. "She don't look like she's almost the same age as the boss, does she?"

Shiv blinked a few times then gave Edje a look as if to say 'what do you mean for her age?' He'd always thought she was younger than them by a few years at least.

"She and the boss started out in the same amateur racing league before he went pro. I know she was still in the amateur groupings when I came through before joining…." Edje made a gesture with his right hand, indicating the tattoos which proclaimed him a member of Mizo's gang.

"Why hasn't she gone pro and why hasn't the boss recruited her?" he'd see her in a few of the minor races, always came in first by a good margin in both time and points, and had always been curious why someone with her skills hadn't been snapped up already. He knew Razer almost always made it to the races she was competing in. He also knew the retired racer always seemed disappointed yet accepting of the fact she dropped out just before the last race of the minor league season.

The older racer took a quick look around before speaking again. "You know how they hold competitions for the amateur league right? Top three racers there get a chance at going pro with the big boys." Once Shiv nodded he continued on. "Remember the huge pile up during the last lap of the finals when the boss went pro?"

The Wastelander had to think back, cause that was about the time his father had moved them to Kras City, trying to muscle in on the action like most did. It finally clicked. "Yeah.."

"Top three were Blitz, Prowler, and.."

"The Desert Viperion." Everything suddenly came together like a well tuned engine. "Sweet water and blessed shade! Viky.. 'our' Viky is the Desert Viperion?" Shiv let out a low whistle.

The pile up Edje spoke of was a rather infamous event in the history of combat racing. There were only two survivors and no one knew what caused it. Blitz had been leading the pack, therefore was a car length ahead of the rest. He was, for once, innocent of rigging the race. Prowler and Viperion had been dead even, then suddenly it was total chaos of screaming metal, screeching tires and billowing smoke. When the emergency crews finally sorted through everything, the only other racer to have survived was Viperion and that had been touch and go for weeks afterwards before she stabilized. And even then she was in a coma for another ten months. She vanished from the sport for a few years then reappeared once more, but this time under her real name.

Viky had started her auto shop a few months prior to getting back into racing part time. Since then she'd taken a number of up and coming racers under her wing showed them the ropes, helped with the vehicles and cut them loose before the last races of the season. They had to pass and win or crash and burn on their own. The list of those she had given an assist to included Edje, Shiv and Razer. They were also amongst the handful that remembered who it was that had helped them out and kept up an informal friendship with. From time to time they'd stop by, either individually or together, bringing her some extra work in the lean season. She wouldn't let them get away with much, no matter who they were connected to. And in a twisted sort of way, they were both grateful for and annoyed with the fact they were treated just the same as anyone else she had dealings with.

-0-

"I told ya she'd be here didn't I?" came a rather confused sounding voice to her left.

"Dude, when it comes to time I believe ya," replied a second and far more laid back voice.

Viky turned to look at one then the other speaker before going back to the first once more. It didn't matter that close to two decades had passed since she had last seen the pair, she still remembered them quite vividly. She narrowed her eyes, fists curling with desire to smack both speakers around. "You!" she hissed with enough venom to put the deadly creature she'd been nicknamed for, to shame.

"Hiya Vik! Good to see you again," the laid back ottsel said with a grin.

-0-

Terms/Concepts:

Scorpion + Viper = Viperion

Kras City to Icelands = 5 hr ahead in time

Kras City to Haven City = 10 hrs ahead in time

Kras City to Spargus City = 18 hrs ahead in time

Bronmo = Jax & Daxter verse version of the Bronco II

Laina (Lani) = Hyacinth McCaw (indigo blue w/ tiny yellow


End file.
